


the opposite of war

by cordsycords



Series: The Five Stages [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Evening Trysts, Feels, Fingering, First Time, Gods and their Followers, Hand Jobs, Honestly the sex is pretty tame, I could have made it raunchier, Kind of Awkward super feelsy first time, M/M, The Moonweaver is not a self-insert, a bit of, and a lot of introspection, especially for molly, here i am back on my non-capitalizing shit, like way too much introspection, why would i do that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 08:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15360720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordsycords/pseuds/cordsycords
Summary: “We may not have been making love, but we were certainly makingsomething. I’d never felt anything like it. For the first time in my life everything was… as it should be.”“And why do you think that is?”“Because the opposite of war…...is fucking”Saga, Issue 17





	the opposite of war

**Author's Note:**

> There are five stages of grief. Welcome to denial.

The Gods of Exandria sit behind the Divine Gate and look out to the prime material plane, watching their creations from afar with a mix of manautany and keen interest. After they die, the Gods bring their worshippers into their arms, rewarding them for a life well lived by the commandments they uphold. It’s not wrong to say that they sometimes pick favourites, with the millions of people who follow them, it gets tricky not to. Raven and the Dawnfather have their twins, and the Knowing Mistress her funny little gnome, but the Moonweaver isn’t necessarily concerned with the great heroes of the age.

She has her elves, all vying for her attention, desperate for it with their festivals and orgies and the wonderful pranks they play. She is quite amused by them, but there is someone else who has caught her watchful glare in the recent years.

She enjoys her tiefling, once quiet and downtrodden, now bright and flashy and walking in her footsteps with reckless abandon. She’ll send him a card every once in awhile, just to see how he’ll spin it into a fortune. He learned well in the circus, to push his forgotten past behind him and forge his own path.

He listens so well.

She likes the new ones he travels with as well, the blue one especially, whom she knows her tiefling has a fondness for. But there comes a night where half of them disappear, taken in the night by wicked people. She watches on when the rest of them wake up the next to find the others gone. Her little tiefling grows sour, and scared. So very terrified of being left behind. There’s not much she can do. There’s only so many cards she can send.

But there is the human as well, the shabby one with the keen mind and the haunted look in his eye. He keeps his past clutched to his chest, and it infects him like a tumour. 

She can see why her tiefling becomes so besotted. Light and love can sometimes be found during the darkest of times, she knows this well. He found peace in her, and perhaps he hopes the human can do the same. Perhaps they can find some peace together, they can keep each other tied down when the world around them is nothing but a tumultuous ocean of uncertainty.

So she keeps her eye on him, listens to his prayers at night, and sends him a card every once in a while, to let him know she’s listening. She finds a smile when the names of others slip into his words, prayers for protection and happiness and good health. She likes it especially when it’s the shabby human’s name.

She keeps the others under her watch as well as she can.

She is a God. She is everything and nothing. She exists at every point in time and space. And she is terribly bored.

She first watches them dance around each other with bated breath, her tiefling pining like the love-struck idiot he his, and the human completely oblivious to his advances. They are both hurting, tender from the loss of their friends, but they get there soon enough, and she hears her tiefling’s thanks as soon as it happens, giggling at his words.

They keep it a secret from the other two, and she helps them as best as she can. She’s become quite good at protecting the quiet moments that happen between lovers, redirecting eyes that attempt to pry and covering hidden corners with her lovely shadows.

But there’s only so much she can do. There are other things she must tend to. The souls of her followers that have passed to her realm must be greeted and taken care of, and there are others still left on the Prime Material that require her gaze. But sometime later on, she hears one of her tiefling’s prayers:

“— We’re going back on the road tomorrow. I know, we didn’t have a lot of time. I wanted more but— well— Nott. And Beau. And fuck, all the others too. I know the search is the most important thing right now, and Caleb’s still keen on keeping this silent, but I just want one night, for fuck’s sake.”

She laughs at his vulgarity. He’s never been the most formal of worshippers, but the underlying tension in his voice gives so much away.

The Divine Gate means she can not interfere with her followers.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t nudge them in the right direction.

 

 

The moon is full tonight, Molly notices as it begins to rise over the horizon, the pinks and oranges of the sunset fading into darkness. He finds himself staring at it, eyesight going in and of focus as if he were under the effects of a charm spell. He doesn’t shake out of it until he feels a shoulder nudge at his, and he suddenly turns to look beside him.

Caleb sits next to him at the back of the cart, watching the road behind them. They are the pre-determined six inches apart from each other, carefully selected for the most contact while keeping it at a ‘friendly’ distance. It’s not like it matters anymore, Molly has become incredibly aware of Caleb in the past month, his moods and body language catalogued away without any input from Molly whatsoever. It’s a blessing and a curse all at once because, during times like this, all Molly can remember is the time two nights ago, shoved into a dark corner of a basement at the tavern they were staying in. Caleb pressing him against the wall, his accent bringing a rougher quality to his voice as he whispered into Molly’s ear and Molly forced himself to stifle a moan.

His mind always goes straight to the naughty bits.

He looks at Caleb out of the corner of his eye. He looks tired, but his eyes shine in the light of rising moon. If there was no one around, Molly would move closer, put his head on Caleb’s shoulder, and just breathe him in as long as he could. He almost aches for the contact, skin-on-skin, sweat dripping down his back—

Again. Back to the naughty bits.

He keeps himself in his place until they make camp, in an evergreen forest a mile or so off the road. The trees here are tall, reaching high above them to block out the light of the moon. It unsettles him, being unable to see it.

He suggests taking the first watch, even asks to do it by himself, so the others can get some rest while he wallows. Caleb is on the opposite side of the fire from him, curled into his bedroll with an extra blanket that Molly had given him. The top of his head just barely peeks out from the fabric, and Molly smiles at the image of a younger Caleb, sleeping soundly in his bed at home, somewhere warm and peaceful.

This is what love does to him. It makes him sentimental. It makes him want to run his hands through Caleb’s hair, untangle each strand one by one before putting it into a little braid.

(Also weaving his hands through it as Caleb’s mouth descends on his—)

He gets up, shaking his head. Walking away from their camp, he lets out a loud, frustrated sigh. He’s found himself in a clearing, perfectly circular and about 60 feet in size. Looking up at the sky, the moon stares down at him. He feels it judging him, somehow.

He kneels down to the ground. There’s soft grass beneath his legs, tiny droplets of dew soaking through his leggings.

“What’re you looking at?” He asks, looking up to the bright orb of light in the sky.

The moon, of course, does nothing. The moon is the moon.

Molly takes off his shirt, balling it in his hands.

“Here we are, you and I, again. Don’t know why it always has to involve nudity.”

As much as he claims to be a follower of the Moonweaver (or Bahamut, or Ioun, or whoever else, given who was asking) there was very little he knew of real worship. He kept away from any temples he could possibly come across in the Empire, it just tended to be safer that way. He knows he probably says the wrong words and does things that could probably be blasphemous in the face of any other deity, but he likes to think he and the Moonweaver have a bit of an understanding.

He clasps his hands together, placing them on his knees, “I’ve been having dreams again, you know the ones,” he murmurs, “they’re better than the other ones, definitely better than the other ones, but, y’know, it’s frustrating as all hells. These days I don’t know what keeps me up more, the dreams of others or dreams of him. Probably him.”

He sighs. This feels weird. He’s talking like he’s confessing some terrible sin, though he feels no regret over committing it. He feels no pleasure over it either. His emotions over the development in his love life are nothing but a conflicted mess, and there’s no Yasha there to help him figure it out. So he turns to the moon, the first thing he saw in this second life of his.

“I need a sign, ‘kay? And not some bloody fucking card. I need something… I dunno. Something real.” He brings his hands to his arms, shivers running down his spine in the cool air. He can feel his sharp nails digging into his skin, certainly not sharp enough to sting, but enough to ground him here and now, “How can I find them when he’s all I think about? How can I be good for him when they haunt every bloody dream? I have to choose, right? At some point, I have to choose.”

Crickets chirp. A wise owl makes itself known from somewhere among the treetops. Something behind him shifts among the underbrush. He flinches, turning towards the figure.

“Mollymauk? Is that you?” Caleb calls out.

He sighs, chuckling to himself as he relaxes, “Over here, darling,” he replies.

“I can’t see.”

“Follow the sound of my voice then, right here love,” a smile comes to his lips as he watches Caleb hesitantly walk to the centre of the clearing. When he’s close, Molly reaches out his hand to catch his and bring it to his lips. Caleb sits down next to him, and Molly finds himself seeking his embrace. A desperate hand pulls Caleb’s body closer to him so that they’re wedged together. Caleb smells like the road, they all do, but there’s an extra hint of something else, pine perhaps, that Molly finds slightly comforting.

“Ah, Mollymauk?”

“Yes dear?” He sleepily whispers into Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb’s hand is right on the small of his back, just above his tail.

“Why are you half-naked?”

“Oh, y’know, just having a bit of a chat.”

“With who?”

Molly looks up toward the sky, Caleb following his gaze, “The moon is full tonight.”

“ _Ja_ , it is beautiful.”

“Two years ago, when I clawed my way out of that grave-- The first thing I saw was the night sky and the full moon. And I remember just sitting there, naked and shivering, in the light of the moon. I was scared and panicked, and then I wasn’t.”

“So, do you do this often, then?”

“No, darling. Just needed to have a chat, is all.”

“Is the moon particularly chatty tonight?”

Molly laughs, “No, but sometimes silence is nice. Thoughts flow freely, makes you come to your own conclusions on things.”

“And where have your thought led you today?”

“Us. The others,” Molly sighs, “I feel so muddled. Does doing this make us terrible people?”

“I don’t know,” Caleb shrugs his shoulders, “Perhaps. Does it matter though?”

“I’ve no fucking clue, why d’you think I’m out here for?”

They share the silence of the night together for a few minutes. The moon looks down upon them, and Caleb finds himself entranced by it as well, “We will find them, Mollymauk. And we’ll bring them home.”

“Hm,” Molly hums, still clinging to Caleb’s shoulder. There are days like this, when everything feels desperately uncertain when he feels the need for contact, something to ground him down. He pushes Caleb down to the grass underneath them and straddles his body, laying himself out on his chest to press his cheek to Caleb’s shirt. He feels exhausted in every possible way, but when Caleb’s hand goes to tangle itself in his hair he feels every muscle relax at once.

“Mollymauk?”

“Yes, love?”

“You are squishing me.”

“Yes, but isn’t it delightful?”

Caleb lets out a halting laugh from beneath him, and Molly can feel his breath and heartbeat from under his cheek. He turns his head so that his chin rests on Caleb’s chest, looking up to see the quirk of a smile on cross Caleb’s lips. His other hand rests under his head as he looks up to the sky, his thumb rubbing at the back of Molly’s neck. Molly reaches up with a finger to boop him on the nose, and Caleb turns to look down at him. He pushes up against the back of Molly’s head and Molly takes the hint, crawling up Caleb’s body to press a feather-light kiss to his mouth. Caleb’s lips are chapped, but they respond with softness.

Molly continues to press kisses all around Caleb’s face, memorizing each bump and line of his nose and jaw. He takes his time, happy to do whatever makes Caleb happy and comfortable. He knows Caleb likes this, he remembers doing it for the first time and seeing a wonderful blush cross Caleb’s lightly freckled cheeks, his breath shorter than normal but not due to panic or fear. Just a little joy. Just a little happiness.

He likes Caleb and happiness. He thinks they make good friends.

Caleb is the one the pushes Molly head down against his lips with a little bit more pressure than before. He’s the one to push his tongue past Molly’s lips with only a hint of hesitation. Molly moans at the back of his throat and Caleb answers it with one of his own. He lifts himself up for a second to readjust before leaning back in again, his hands surrounding Caleb’s face.

Caleb is not the most expressive between the two of them, but tonight he voices his pleasure freely. Between each kiss, there’s a moan or content sigh, the whisper of Molly’s name of his lips or a near-silent demand for _more_. His hand comes up to rest at Molly’s side, pulling him down even closer. At one point Molly shifts them so that they’re on their sides, legs tangled together, thighs pressed against obvious indications of arousal. Caleb’s fingers dig into Molly’s hips, pressing into skin hard enough to bruise. Molly’s hand disappears from Caleb’s cheek and trails down his body, desperately tugging at his clothing in need of more contact.

“Caleb, _more_ ,” he whines. His tugging doesn’t get anything accomplished, his thoughts too muddled to pull any organized attempt to remove Caleb’s clothes, but Caleb gets the gist of it. It takes him an extra couple of minutes to get his coat and shirt off from their position lying on the ground. Molly is no help, he sits back and stares as Caleb awkwardly shifts around in place, unable to keep eye contact with him as he lifts his shirt over his head, arms getting caught in his sleeves before Molly can reach out and assist him in the final step.

Caleb shies away afterwards, shifts his gaze to look to the opposite side of the clearing, “Caleb, darling?”

“Uh, _ja_?

“You all right?”

“Um, yes. I am fine, it’s just,” he chuckles a self-deprecating laugh under his breath, he rocks back and forth when he’s nervous, “You can see me.”

“I see you every day, darling.”

“Not like this.”

“That’s true, the moonlight does wonders to your skin. Come back, love, I promise I won’t stare too much.”

Caleb hesitates for a moment before returning to lie next to Molly, facing him on his side. He’s further away now, which Molly doesn’t particularly enjoy, his arms crossed in front of his chest, hands clasping tightly into his shoulders. He’s curled into himself, still hiding his now-exposed skin from Molly’s sight.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“This is very different. From before.”

“Darling, you had your hand down my pants just the other day while you whispered naughty things into my ear.”

Caleb chuckles, “My confidence seems to be failing me.”

“We don’t have to continue this if you don’t want.”

“I-” Caleb whispers, stopping himself with a halting breath. He takes a second to breathe, licks his lips, and continues, “I don’t want to stop.”

Molly reaches out his hand, tapping his fingertips against Caleb’s cheek, “What do you want, dear?”

“Closer, please?”

He moves so their almost nose to nose, looking directly into each other's eyes. Caleb’s gaze shifts from the intimacy, looking every other way he can before settling on Molly’s lips. If it were day, Molly is sure he’d see the faint haze of a blush grace Caleb’s freckled cheeks.

“How’s this?” He asks, moving his hand to rest at Caleb’s waist, nothing too saucy, just a hint of something more.

“Good.”

“And if I-” he presses his face closer to Caleb’s, slowly so as to give him a chance to back away. Caleb’s hand very quickly goes to Molly’s cheek, and for a second he thinks it’s to push him away, but instead, Caleb drags him forward to attach their lips once more. He whines from the back of his throat.

“Molly-” He says between kisses, “I- I don’t- Can you-” He stops and starts, hand clenching and relaxing against Molly’s face. It’s Caleb’s broken way of saying that he needs some direction, that he knows what he wants but the execution of those desires seems to escape him. So Molly takes his hand and guides it down his body, along with the brightly coloured peacock tattoo that graces his torso, over the maze of scars that criss-cross along his skin, right down to the curve of his ass, where he encourages Caleb to grab it with a squeeze of his hand.

To his delight, Caleb goes along with it. He grabs at Molly’s ass and pulls their lover halves closer together, continuing what they had been doing before the brief interlude.

It’s messy and rough. The ground is not a bed. It is hard and unyielding and dirty. They’re sure to need a bath by the next day, with dirt covering their skin and strands of grass in their hair. The air is too cold for their skin to be bare, and gooseflesh dots their arms. Their lips, having gone so long in denial, connect with barely-contained desperation. Teeth bump into each other, tongues are bitten, tender lips become swollen and bruised. Molly’s erection strains against his tight leggings, and while the friction he’s receiving from grinding against Caleb’s thigh is appreciated, it’s not nearly enough. 

There’s a thought deep inside his head that’s telling him to voice his discomfort, to postpone their activities to somewhere more comfortable for the both of them.

There’s a louder thought as well, telling him that this is somehow perfect. For them at least. They don’t need the frippery and finery that only exists to them in stories they heard from Jester. Together they can make it through this, finding their happy moments in whatever state they can. 

Caleb shoves his hand beneath the waistband of Molly’s leggings, fingers digging into his skin.

“Your pants are too tight,” he all but growls between kisses, his accent strong and guttural. 

Molly chuckles at him, “What’re you gonna do about that?”

“Nothing,” Caleb states. Mollymauk is almost taken aback before Caleb continues, “But _you_ are taking them off.”

There’s an infectious smirk in Caleb’s voice that finds its way to Molly’s lips, “Okay.”

Whatever he does to remove his leggings is the exact opposite of graceful. There’s no slow removal of clothing, no striptease to increase the tension in the air, his lover isn’t tied to a bed begging for his touch. There are no tricks here, no candlelight to accent the colour of his skin, no drugs to take their pleasure higher. Everything is raw and exposed.

He takes them off one leg at a time, shimmying against the ground awkwardly. It takes more out of him than he thought it would, his breath coming out at a faster rate than it was before. He looks back up to Caleb when he’s done.

And then he’s being pushed onto his back, skin connecting with what he’s pretty sure is Caleb’s long-forgotten cloak. Caleb straddles his torso, further up his body than he would like, but perhaps there is a reason for it. Caleb’s hands are on his chest, and Molly wraps his hands around his wrists. The moon sits just behind Caleb in the sky, like a white halo hovering above his head.

He breath hitches in his chest, the feeling of vulnerability finally catching up to him. It is neither due to his nakedness nor to the act itself, of that he is almost sure of. But there’s nothing in the way now, no mask to hide behind, no lie dripping off the tip of his tongue. Caleb is seeing him now for what he is, what he’s always been: a boy born naked in the moonlight.

Maybe that’s why this feels so perfect? 

Caleb reaches his hand behind him, wrapping it around Molly’s cock. The angle is strange, but the contact is appreciated. Molly keens, thrusting his head back as much as his horns will allow. He tries to move his hips, but he is very quickly lost to the sensation of Caleb’s hand and then Caleb’s lips on his, trailing down his cheek and neck and chest. He feels Caleb’s beard scratch against the sensitive skin of his bared neck as he nibbles and sucks marks there. His hands are restless, so he rests them on Caleb’s hips.

Caleb twists his hand and Molly swears in a breath. He doesn’t have control over his tail anymore. It twitches on the ground from side to side, “Fuck, Caleb.”

“Yes, liebling?” He slows down his movements, but runs his finger back and forth over the head of Molly’s cock, gathering the precum there on the side of his thumb. He then removes his hand. Molly’s leg twitches at the loss, and he finally realizes that his eyes have been closed.

When he opens them, Caleb has his thumb in his mouth, sucking on it with a very satisfied look on his face. Molly’s mind immediately goes blank, then gets bombarded with several different images of Caleb on his knees.

“Bloody fucking tease,” he moans, hands clenching at Caleb’s hips.

“Just keeping some promises,” Caleb says, going back to the task at hand.

Molly never thought something as tame as a handjob could feel this intense. While the hand wrapped around his cock is certainly pleasurable, Caleb’s focus on him heightens it immeasurably. Molly can feel the weight of his intentions settle in the air around them, and while not many words go between them, they’ve both come to a silent agreement as to where this night is taking them. 

Caleb likes to learn. He likes to study, and understand, and consume every bit of knowledge that he can. He has his hand wrapped around Molly’s cock, and he will be damned if he doesn’t wring out every moan, twitch, and expression he can, filling it away to remember for future exploits.

Molly’s not complaining. He likes to be watched. He likes to be watched by Caleb especially. He won’t begrudge his lover’s need to study him. He will try as hard as possible to make sure this night lasts.

Caleb doesn’t make it easy.

He was right, Caleb is a fucking tease. He’ll have his hand on Molly cock, slowly working away with a twist of the wrist, rough fingers adding more friction than usual. He’ll sit back and take in Molly’s every expression and quiet moan, until Molly starts to beg and plead, and then he’ll stop at once. He leans down to Molly’s lips, keeping his own just out of reach for Molly to close the gap between them. His hands are everywhere on Molly’s chest, reaching and exploring, playing with his sensitive nipples until he’s satisfied that Molly’s been denied enough. Then he goes back to Molly’s cock, and the cycle starts all over again.

Molly is a writhing mess by the time he opens his mouth, “Caleb, love, you have to stop.”

“And why should I do that?” He asks, moving his hand faster than before.

Molly gasps, closing his eyes shut. He can feel himself going closer to the crest, every muscle tensing as his body chases the height of pleasure. He tries to push it down, “Because I- Fuck Caleb- I don’t want-”

“What do you want?” Caleb asks, turning the tables from before.

“I-don’t-want-to-come-without-you-inside-me,” he says in a rush of slurred together words, heart pounding through his chest as he continues to stave off his orgasm. In a second Caleb’s hand is gone again, and Molly breathes a sigh of relief.

“Do you-- Do you really want that?” Caleb asks, voice quivering with hesitation.

Molly reaches to take his hand, “Of course I do.”

“Ri-- Right now? Tonight?”

“Is there going to be any other time?”

“I-- I don’t know.”

“So?”

Caleb looks lost in his thoughts, expressions passing by on his face as he thinks it through before answering, “I have oil in my coat.”

“Were you planning ahead, love?” Molly asks jokingly.

Caleb flusters, “Ah, nein, it is for my spells. But I think it would be suitable-”

“I know, darling,” Molly says, an adoring smile on his face as he reaches his hand to cup Caleb’s cheek, “How d’you want me?”

Caleb pushes his cheek into Molly’s palm, his breath short with anxious excitement, “Like this. I want to see you. As much as I can, at least.”

They take a bit to readjust, Caleb on his knees between Molly’s legs, his trousers finally removed. Molly sees his cock for the first time, long and hard amidst a gathering of ginger curls. Gods he wants it _now_ , but Caleb takes his time. He caresses his hand down Molly’s thigh, guiding it to wrap around his hip. His other hand goes back to Molly’s cock, and while Molly could have dealt with that before, he’s too eager now to humour Caleb any longer.

“Please, Caleb, no more o’ that,” He whines. Caleb listens, bringing his hand done to run his finger over the rim of Molly’s ass, circling it with feather-light touches that send shocks straight up his spine, “Yes, please, Caleb, more please, I want more,” Molly babbles, a wayward hand grabbing a fistful of his own hair as his tail twitches uncontrollably.

Caleb slowly presses his finger deeper, continuing the tiny circles as Molly moans in relief. There is nothing particularly pleasurable about it, but Gods it feels so right. Caleb’s finger brushes past that spot inside of him and he gasps, thrusting his hips down on Caleb’s hand as his back arches off the ground.

“Right there, Caleb, good boy.”

“Again?”

“Yes please.”

“More?”

“Fuck yes.”

Caleb’s finger retreats for a second and comes back at two, poking and prodding at that spot until Molly is shaking against the ground. His hips thrust, his tail spasms, the leg around Caleb’s hip squeezes and releases in between waves of pleasure. He runs his tongue, babbles about every single dirty thought that’s gone through his mind since they began this whole flirtation. Of the wonderful things he wants to do to Caleb, the things he wants Caleb to do to him. He moans and whines and staves off his orgasm as best as he can until finally, Caleb’s cock is pressing at his entrance.

And suddenly it’s all going to fast. He’s been begging for more all night, and now it’s become too much.

“Wait, wait,” He gasps out, reaching out for Caleb’s hand that’s wrapped around his waist.

“Molly?”

“Just a little slower, dear.”

“We’ve been going slow all night.”

“I know, just want to draw it out, just a little more. Make it last.”

“Make it last.”

Caleb presses in inch by blessed inch. It’s a slow stretch, a pleasant burn that ripples across his body. He’s sweating, they both are, holding themselves back from their baser desires. Caleb leans down to Molly as he brings their hips closer and closer together. Molly hitches his legs higher up on his hips until he’s almost bent in half, his cock rubbing up against Caleb’s chest. They breathe each other’s air, bringing their lips together between pants of breath and moans of pleasure.

When they finally meet, it feels like the planes have aligned to make this moment a reality.

It’s not the best sex he’s ever had. Caleb is either inexperienced or out of practice. His thrusts have no rhythm, and Molly can feel the way his arms are shaking just to keep himself hovering over his body. But this feels more than a physical connection. The emotions between them hand in the air like a shadow, completely unspoken but impossible to deny. They haven’t said anything yet. Molly doubts that they will for some time to come.

Caleb’s head ducks into the crook of his neck as his thrusts grow uncontrolled and irregular. Without the press of Caleb’s cock on his prostate, the only pleasure he gains is from the friction on his cock. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. He comes with a sob of Caleb’s name at his lips, descending over the cliff of his orgasm as every muscle tenses at once. Caleb continues his movements, chasing his pleasure as well as he can. The overstimulation is painful, but he doesn’t complain, he pulls at Caleb’s hips and urges him along until Caleb collapses onto his chest and Molly feels his cock twitch from inside him.

“Caleb, my lovely boy,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s shoulders. Caleb pants against his chest, taking a second before pulling out. He stays there, resting on top of Molly as Molly cards his fingers through his wild hair.

They lie in silence, their sweat-soaked bodies tied together, with no intention of leaving their hiding spot in the woods. Shadows surround them, protecting their tryst from any wandering eyes. It doesn’t take long for them to fall asleep.

From above them, the moon watches on.

**Author's Note:**

> I remembered this quote last night on the bus home from dinner with friends and decided it all of the sudden it needed to be the title for this fic, since it basically explains why I wrote it.
> 
> If you haven't read Saga (which you should, it's taliesin-approved), all I'll say is that one of the characters constantly has panic attacks where he'll see the image of himself and a bunch of soldiers who were once part of his platoon but are now dead having an orgy. He doesn't understand it for a while, until he meets an authour who wrote a smutty book called _The Opposite of War_.
> 
> War in Saga is senseless violence. There are no moral high grounds on either side, no reason it is being fought other than bigotry and hatred. The opposite of that can only be senseless pleasure. 
> 
> Of course, by that logic this fic should probably be a poly!nein fic, and maybe that'll come around eventually. For now, I had a smutty fic already half-written out, and decided to add a couple overflowing emotions from last weeks episode.
> 
> This has been denial. Anger will be next.


End file.
